Aria stood in front of the bathroom mirror at three in the morning, staring at the reflection of a girl who looked as wrecked as she felt: wide amber eyes ringed with the faint red of too many hours spent under blue light, wheat colored hair tangled from absentminded raking of fingers through it during particularly intense plot twists, and a face that hovered in the unremarkable middle ground between striking and forgettable. "God, I'd kill for a cup of instant noodles right now," she whispered to that exhausted version of herself, the words fogging the glass for only a moment before vanishing.
She turned away, crossed the tiny bedroom in three tired steps, and let herself collapse backward onto the narrow bed that had been her companion through far too many all-nighters. Six hours. She had lost six entire hours to the endless scroll of chapters, emerging from the binge with a brain that felt thoroughly wrung out and eyes that scratched with every blink, yet the craving for more remained stubbornly intact.
Her phone glowed with the soft promise of a new chapter notification, and though she told herself she would ignore it this time, that she genuinely needed sleep before the real world demanded her attention again, she knew the lie for what it was even as she reached for the device.
Thumb moving of its own accord, she opened the update for Eternal Abyss: Rise of the Cursed King, the story that had hooked her weeks ago. There, in the world the author had built, the newly unsealed monster known across continents as the Sovereign of Endless Night prepared to claim his sacrificial bride; an unfortunate character who shared Aria's full name, a coincidence that had started as amusing and now felt uncomfortably personal.
The chapter waiting for her focused on the wedding night itself, describing in painful detail how the King, his name a mere footnote compared to his many grim titles, stared down at his new bride with all the warmth a man might give to a stubborn patch of mold.
The text unfurled across the screen:
"He swept into the room, a creature carved from malevolence, the embroidered phoenix of her wedding attire a mockery on the bedding beside him. Aria lay still, awaiting the fate that had been thrust upon her, as if she herself had chosen it. The Sovereign approached without pause. His gaze raked over her once, dismissive and cold."
"Ugh, get on with it," Aria murmured, skimming the author's bloated description of the room's decor. It was always like this: pages wasted on velvet drapes that drank the light or floors so polished they showed distorted reflections of an ugly truth. She just wanted the plot.
"Do you understand what you are?" his dialogue began, "A cur. If I could, I'd kill you without the armistice consequences."
Her lips flattened. This entire storyline revolved around the brutal premise that the sects used Aria Voss's body as a battery, hoping it would be enough to siphon away the volatile energy emanating from the recently unsealed Cursed King. They wanted the man chained. He despised them for it. The bride herself barely qualified as a person to any of them.
"Your blood just so happens to be compatible with my essence. Don't mistake it for value," the King continued.
Aria huffed out a frustrated breath. There was never any fight in the character, not because she couldn't muster it, but because the plot demanded her passivity. The author used her weakness to illustrate the King's cruelty, a narrative choice that struck Aria as profoundly lazy writing.
Scrolling further, the text detailed the new bride's reaction. She started trembling, which only invited further ridicule. Then, a scene describing how the King deliberately knocked a porcelain pitcher from the bedside table just to watch her jump made Aria's jaw lock with genuine annoyance. The character in the novel couldn't do anything right, and for her trouble, she was punished constantly.
The story's author was setting up the next arc with an obvious death flag for the protagonist, all so some stronger cultivator from a major sect would eventually swoop in and challenge the cursed Sovereign. She'd heard this setup a dozen times. Yawn.
Aria navigated to the comments section. Predictably, the latest posts were filled with arguments. A few readers actually defended the Cursed King's cruelty as just and proper.
DemonKing88:"The author finally showed us the Cursed King's TRUE character, no filters! He treats the useless girl as she deserves. Based and correct!"
A new reply caught her eye.
FictionFan2000: "No kidding. Aria Voss has got to be the worst-written female lead in history. She's weak, whiny, and completely dependent on the plot moving around her while she contributes nothing. It's painful to read."
Another comment appeared.
TruePathCultivator: "Exactly! A 'vessel' who doesn't even try to cultivate? Just cries and looks sad? Waste of chapters."
Aria felt a flash of annoyance. The story's execution was clumsy, the female lead's motivations nonexistent, but blaming the character felt wrong. Her fingers flew across the screen as she typed.
Ari_is_tired: "You guys missing the point on purpose? It's not her fault. She's been actively groomed her whole life to be weak. Her family suppressed her talents to avoid execution by a sect who feared what she could become. She has no foundation, no information, and now she's thrown to a guy who sees her as furniture. Cut her some slack for not instantly transforming into a cultivator badass after what, a day? Of course she's scared."
She posted the comment and checked the clock on her phone's screen. 3:32 AM.
A heavy, warm drowsiness began settling over her like a thick wool blanket. Her phone slipped from her grasp, landing with a dull thud on her gray-carpeted floor, the glowing comments forum fading out. I should really pick that up. Then I could charge it. Her eyelids were lead weights. I'll just…rest for a minute. Maybe five…